‘Dief’ delighted in stories of political sinners, saints

I wish John Diefenbaker had been my history professor in high school and college. Through his portrayal of characters, he breathed life into their times. I was privileged to listen to “The Chief” recount anecdotes of rogues I had never heard of before. He collected stories of saints and sinners, many of whom he had met.

I have never seen “The Chief” happier or more at ease than when he had a small audience in his prime minister’s suite in the East Block, on the PM’s private railway cars “Acadia” or “100,” or in the shoebox of an office Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau consigned him to when he was in his valley of humiliation as a plain, ordinary member of Parliament.

Who the heck was Amor De Cosmos? He was the forgotten man of British Columbian and Canadian politics. He was British Columbia’s second premier and B.C.’s Father of Confederation.

De Cosmos was born William Alexander Smith in Windsor, N.S. in 1825. When he was 29, he successfully petitioned the California state assembly to change his name to Amor De Cosmos. He served British Columbia as a member of the legislative assembly from 1863 to 1866, as a federal MP for Victoria, and as premier of B.C. from Dec. 23, 1872 to Feb. 9, 1874.

In 1895, De Cosmos was declared legally insane.

He died on July 4, 1897. He was 71. He was interred in Rose Bay Cemetery in Victoria.

“Dief” took a shine to Indiana Hoosier three-term U.S. Sen. Homer Capehart. They met at a formal dinner at the opening of the St. Lawrence Seaway. Capehart sat near Queen Elizabeth II, and Dief had to swallow his mirth over Capehart’s innocent banter: “Ever been to Roosia (Russia), Queen?”

Diefenbaker kept in touch with Capehart over the years. The U.S. senator from Indiana was no fool. He was first to warn President Kennedy of the Soviet buildup in Cuba long before U-2 photo-reconnaissance disclosed it.

In 1962, Capehart went down under a blizzard of votes cast for Kennedy protege Birch Bayh. Dief called the defeated senator on election night and asked: “What happened, Homer?”

“The bastards beat me,” was Capehart’s reply.

To which Dief replied: “Homer, I’ve seen the vote totals and if the bastards beat you, there must be an awful lot of illegitimate voters in Indiana.”

Surely, the rogue with the longest tenure in office was James Michael Curley, four-term mayor of Boston, two-term congressman and one-term state governor. What the Irish got in America, they won through bare-knuckle politics. Boston was the capital of Irish America.

Curley paved the way for Irish politicians to come.

Curley’s success at the polls was attributed to his simple equation: “Do little things for little people and they will reward you with their votes.”

Curley was the tribune of the people and the last of America’s political bosses.

He was surrounded by colourful Irish retainers such as “Knocko” McCormack, “Onions” Burke, Thomas (Tip) O’Neill and “Up-Up” Kelly.

Kelly’s only job seemed to be to precede Gov. James Michael Curley into a hall where Curley was the guest speaker.

At one venue, Curley was speaking to a deaf audience through a sign language interpreter. No one moved and Kelly asked the governor: “What’s the matter with them? Are they all deaf?”

The governor answered: “Yes, John, they all are deaf.”

Some observers gave Curley the benefit of the doubt by dismissing his actions as “lax ethics.” Semantics aside, Curley ran the most corrupt administrations in modern politics. But, as one of his Tammany Hall club supporters observed: “He’s a God damned crook, but he’s our crook.”

Glace Bay-born Pat MacAdam has been a fly on the wall in national politics for half a century. He served as a spear carrier for prime ministers John Diefenbaker and Brian Mulroney, and as press officer at Canada’s High Commission in London. He’s in Ottawa (Bytown) now and can be reached at eyeopener_gatsby@rogers.com.